Ill Comforts
by rlturner79
Summary: Martin is home sick with the flu... slash


_All italicized lines are quotes from "Men in Black."_

A/N: After a Thanksgiving visit from my best friend where in we watched both "Men in Black" movies not once, but twice…well this quick little ficlet resulted from that. And I don't know _what_ it is about those movies that I find so amusing, but my God I could watch them nonstop & still be laughing. :)

* * *

_…the best of the best of the best SIR! With honors…_

Danny froze, the key still in his hand, the door half open. He really hoped he'd misheard. There was no way Martin could be watching that movie again. From the beginning. And yet, as Danny listened more closely he could hear Martin's soft laugh, could hear him reciting the next words of the movie under his breath.

He'd been home sick with the flu for most of the week so Danny had granted him some leeway. But this was getting ridiculous. He shut the door quietly and crept into their apartment, listening. Sure enough he heard it all. Will Smith, Tommy Lee Jones, Rip Torn, those stupid little alien worms. Yes, Martin really was watching Men In Black again. And Danny was sure that Men In Black Two was already in the DVD player, waiting to be played next.

Still trying to stay silent, Danny walked into the living room and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. As much as he wanted to be annoyed he couldn't stop the smile that formed on his lips. And the small tendrils of worry that had been curled up inside of him for the past few days uncoiled completely as he watched Martin, unnoticed for the moment.

Earlier in the week Danny had insisted Martin leave work before they'd solved a case. He'd enlisted Jack to force Martin to go home – something he knew wouldn't win him any points with the other man. But he'd been worried. Martin had been running a fever, sweating, shivering…in no condition to be chasing suspects through the cold, rainy streets of New York. Or even sitting in the office. So despite Martin's protests and angry glares in Danny's direction Jack had sent him home.

When Danny had finally been able to do the same he found Martin in their bed, buried under a mountain of blankets, looking entirely too pale, a sheen of sweat on his overheated skin. He'd sat up all night with Martin, holding him close when he proclaimed to be cold, pressing a cool cloth to his forehead when he was hot. And when he got worse instead of better, Danny had been scared. He'd been very close to taking him to a hospital, but had relented only after Martin's tearful, desperate pleas to stay home.

He'd had the flu before, he'd been around other people when they'd had the flu, but this was different. By near-morning Martin was shaking, throwing up and _still_ running a high fever. More than once Danny had to talk himself back from panic. He'd called Jack, prepared to argue with the other man because there was _no_ way he could go into work and leave Martin home sick. But Jack hadn't argued; in fact he'd been surprisingly understanding, telling him to take the time he needed.

He hadn't cared about catching whatever Martin had, all he'd cared about was putting Martin at ease, getting him better. He was there when Martin was shivering and sweating, uncomfortable and exhausted. He held him when his body ached, petting his hair and rubbing his back, trying to take the pain away. He did everything he could to keep his fever down. Pulled him up and practically carried him to bed when he was too weak to get up off the cold, bathroom floor after throwing up. Danny's heart had ached for the other man when he'd clung to him weakly, whimpering and apologizing for being sick.

Finally, after nearly thirty hours Martin's fever broke completely and he fell into a deep sleep. But he was still exhausted and nowhere near one hundred percent. He voiced a few weakened-protests that he could go back to work, but with a simple stern look from Danny he relented. Even Martin, stubborn as he was, could see the wisdom in staying home for a little while after being so severely ill.

By then Jack had insisted Danny come back in as they were worn out and overworked after nearly two days with only three agents. He'd been reluctant to leave, but Martin had insisted that he would be okay, that he wouldn't over-exert himself. Danny had tucked him into the couch like a child, ignoring Martin's amused looks. He'd loaded five movies into the DVD changer, handed Martin all the necessary remotes and let him know there was chicken soup in the fridge, just waiting to be microwaved. He'd also called home about five times that day to check on him, something he could tell Martin found both annoying and endearing.

That had been yesterday. This morning Martin's protests that he was fine had grown stronger, but still Danny had fought him about going into work, threatening to call Jack and tell him that Martin was sicker than he actually was. Pouting, Martin had stayed on the couch, looking like a petulant child with a blanket wrapped up to his chin.

_…the last suit you'll ever wear._

"Again," Martin added, snickering to himself.

"Wrong movie," Danny stated, stepping more fully into the room.

Martin grinned, tearing his eyes away from the movie he'd seen plenty of times to meet Danny's exasperated smile. "See, you know the lines too," he said smugly, shifting on the couch so he sat up straighter in the center, blanket still wrapped around his waist.

"Only because you've watched these movies every minute of the past few days," Danny replied dryly. Martin raised an eyebrow and motioned Danny closer, snuggling close when Danny wrapped his arms around him.

"Feeling better?" he asked softly, placing his hand on Martin's forehead automatically to check for a fever. Martin nodded and leaned his head down against Danny's shoulder, sighing happily when Danny kissed his temple. "You're still tired," Danny stated absently, running his fingers methodically over the back of Martin's neck.

_We're not hosting an intergalactic kegger down here._

Martin giggled and Danny rolled his eyes. "How can it still be funny after you've watched the movie at least twenty times in the past couple days?" he asked, his voice tinged with amusement.

He sat up slightly and peered into Danny's eyes with a look of exasperation on his face. His hair was splayed out in several directions from lying on the couch all day, his skin was still slightly flushed, his eyes not as bright as they should be, but he was smiling and Danny felt another wave of relief hit him. It had just been the flu, but he'd been terrified nonetheless. And he'd done a very good job of picturing the worst-case scenarios in which it turned into something much more severe.

"I don't know why it's still funny, it just is. It will always be funny. They're those kind of movies," Martin answered.

"What kind of movies?"

"Comfort movies. The ones you watch a thousand times and never tire of. You know what's going to happen next, hell you could recite all the lines, but they're still entertaining," he explained. Rolling his eyes at Danny's look of amusement, he settled himself more comfortably on the couch again, close enough to Danny so that he could tangle their legs together and wrap an arm around his waist. "And I haven't watched them twenty times," he muttered, lips brushing against Danny's neck in a quick kiss. He yawned and then quickly started to laugh as he focused on the movie again.

Comfort movie or not, Danny knew it wouldn't be long before he fell asleep. He gathered Martin more closely into his arms and pressed a kiss to the top of his head, smiling as he deadpanned his next words. "I'm sorry Fitz, you're right. Maybe it was only nineteen."

Fin


End file.
